


An unacceptable pattern of behaviour

by Caprica_Janeway



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprica_Janeway/pseuds/Caprica_Janeway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The storm that is Jack Raydor, as only a wife could remember. (Inspired by Internal Affairs, 3x17)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An unacceptable pattern of behaviour

She draws the curtains a little closer now.

Tonight she's already seen the sunset and starlight flicker across a sky of blues, oranges and deep brown. She knows this happens every evening, the dusk comes settling and prompt. She knows the next morning the sun will rise and the cycle will begin anew.

She knows all this. She's seen it all before, and she doesn't need to see it just now to know it will happen again.

_I want to apologise._

Three separations, two temporary, one sustained.  
Five letters, four read, one destroyed.

She moves in slow motion. There is no need to rush, the stars will still be twinkling, the traffic still chaotic and she's heard it will rain tonight.

_…the inconvenience._

Four calls from a bank, three for money, one new account.  
Six calls to a father, four unanswered, two brief and stilted.

The rain begins. Not with the pitter patter of a light sprinkle, but with the onslaught and weight that crumples umbrellas and mocks their users that they could escape this force of nature.

_…the incivility._

Seven shouting matches, five in the kitchen, two in front of the children.  
Nine desertions, five times looked, three missing notices, and one court date.

There is a temptation when the storm hits to simply embrace it. To go out from under the shelter and absorb it's heavy load. To let it know with every ounce of your being that you can take it, that you've seen it's face and don't fear it.

_…I'm so sorry,_

But like every storm, eventually the rain has to stop. Sometimes quietly a wind will nudge it's upper hand and in one fell swoop sweep up the remains. Other more graceful storms will peter out so slowly you may forget how loud they once were.

_…I'm so sorry I took you for granted._

Then there are those that trip and weave - gathering pace, only to lose it again. Amongst the weight there is movement, they fall across everything without direction, or understanding. They believe they are without form, becoming one thing and professing another.

They are a force unto themselves. They go as they leave - without warning, without console.

_…I'm so sorry._

They repeat.

She opens the curtains slightly and notices a change in the promised rain. It's quieter and clumsier than she expected. There is no assertion of it's presence, no boisterous boom, no trail of destruction.

It pitter patters, not swept by wind, it sits.

She tilts her head and closes her eyes. She doesn't remember rain like this, not here in this place, not from this city.

She breathes in deeply, she opens her eyes.

She has said a prayer, she has said goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> I had sat down to write something else, but that last scene between Jack and Sharon in Internal Affairs played on my mind, hence this little detour from my usual style.


End file.
